Someone's In The Kitchen With Smith
by TharaCorleone
Summary: Another day of work for the Uppers, and Noemi finds herself in the kitchen with a familiar chef. Time for fun? Probably not XD Note: Due to Elliott's basis in Gordon Ramsey in my headcanon, this fic contains a lot of swearing.


"Thanks for the ride, Jeyn. I owe you one!"

As the Pussycat quickly hopped off the motorbike and hugged her fellow clan member, Noemi's instinct in the face of being late for work was to arrive as quickly as possible, then "cute" her way out of trouble and punishment. It had worked before with some of the more lax Uppers, especially the males; but as she pushed open one half of the HQ double doors, noticing a stern-looking Jeeves upon her arrival doused any chance of getting away with lateness.

"Ah, Miss Jenner. I was beginning to think you weren't going to turn up at all."

"Look Jeeves, I'm really sorry but my Aunt, she had a problem and-" Noemi frantically began to explain, trailing off when she was silenced by the male's raised hand; noticing the slight smile on his face, she couldn't help feeling herself relax.

"We'll say no more about it, but just this once. I trust your weekend went well."

"It was alright, I guess," Noemi said, shrugging her shoulders. "Managed to get a look-in at that new sushi place that opened up. Hey, I never noticed all these cameras around the place before. What gives?"

"That would be our new security camera circuit system, Miss Jenner" he explained, pointing them out one by one in the hallway. "Master Zlatar had it installed to combat our little theft problem."

"Theft problem?" she asked, sounding completely innocent, but she could also feel her heart race at the mere hint of suspicion.

"Unfortunately, our clan has had an increase of possessions stolen inside our own HQ of all things. The older security system failed to pick anything up, in fact all we ended up with was a wall of darkened images."

Noemi couldn't help giggling as she heard his words; having wiped all the old system's screens with soot-like powder, she had been the reason behind it's failure to notice anything.

"I fail to see what's so funny about it."

"Nothing, nothing, I was just thinking about something else."

"Very well. I trust you'll get to work then and nothing else," Jeeves said, rather bluntly as he began to make his way down the hallway; as the cameras seemed to "follow" him on his journey, they immediately turned back to Noemi as soon as the male was out of sight.

"Just how sensitive are these things?" She muttered, her lilac Mary Janes causing nothing but echo against the marble floor and throughout the hallway as she slowly followed Jeeves' route. The barrage of cameras "staring" at her was beginning to freak the Pussycat out, along with the possibility that she'd return to her clan empty-handed.

But before she had time to have a full-scale worry fit, she suddenly felt a rather familiar rumbling in her stomach, one which would have turned her cheeks scarlet had anyone else been in her company.

"Never mind empty-handed, I can't be doing work on an empty _stomach_," she quietly mused, quickening her pace on route to the kitchen. The Uppers had often declared their staff free to eat whatever they wanted, yet Noemi often found their stock too rich in taste and often brought rations from home; her frantic rush that morning being the only reason she'd arrived without any "snackage" as she liked to call it.

Slowly opening the kitchen door, she noticed the expected sight of a familiar chef hard at work, swearing away like a trooper at the oven as he always did.

"Just fucking work, you little shit!"

"Morning, Elliott," Noemi chirped, carefully sidestepping her way around a pile of flour that seemed to have manifested on the checkered floor.

"Fucking morning," was the not-as-enthusiastic response; managing to pull out a large pot-like container from the oven, he turned to face her whilst struggling slightly to keep the container in check. "Can you just give me a fucking minute whilst I sort all this shit out?"

"Sure," the female said, smiling as she looked on during what seemed like chaos in the kitchen. She was used to seeing mass amounts of mess in her own clan's kitchen quarters when Noon was cooking, but nothing compared to the stacks of pots and pans along the counters and the ingredients that just seemed to have spawned _everywhere_.

Noticing a few stray grapes that seemed to be clean enough, Noemi couldn't help swiping them from the counter as she watched Elliott apply his final preparations; munching on her little snack as she did so, she couldn't help but try to guess just which Upper was going to have which breakfast based on preferences and allergies, as she'd been doing her job in the mansion long enough to have learnt a few things.

"You work so hard, Elliott," she said, before popping another grape into her mouth. "You deserve a _lot_ more recognition than the French guy with the funny looking moustache."

"Finally someone who fucking agrees with me! My work will _always_ be better than any shit that fucking wanker frog could produce," the chef smirked, appreciatively staring at his own work. He then turned his attention to Noemi, holding out the wooden spoon he'd just been stirring with.

"Oh no, I couldn't," she said, shaking her head; her declination not out of politeness but out of taste, she could feel herself retching a little. She'd never been a big fan of porridge, especially when it reminded her of a certain human substance.

"I'm sure Janine of all people wouldn't mind sharing her fucking breakfast, so shut the hell up and have some, Your Noemi-ness," he said, even daring a wink.

Managing a polite smile, the Pussycat decided to get it over and done with as she spooned the porridge into her mouth; "ooing" quite appreciatively but still prominently thinking about the similarity to a certain substance. She even stopped in mid-taste, as if she was expecting some kind of dirty comment; if she'd been in the presence of the likes of Jonas or Sydney, some innuendo would have been inevitable. But Elliott didn't seem to say anything at all as he began to wipe down the surfaces, his satisfied look saying more than enough.

"Calm the fuck down, Goldilocks," he finally said, smirking as he swiftly moved the bowl away from her. "I know I said Janine wouldn't mind, but now I think you're taking the piss. Besides, didn't you have breakfast already?"

"I was in a bit of a rush this morning and- oh!" She exclaimed, suddenly noticing her reflection in the moving lens up high. "There are cameras here too."

"Yeah, that fucking git Herman had a couple of those shitting fuckers installed in the kitchen too," Elliott said, almost spitting the words out in disgust. "Why the fuck do I need a fucking eye kept on me? What's the worst shit I'm going to get up too? Stealing fucking ingredients? I bet that fucking frog suspected me, suspicious little cunt! I fucking hate him! FUCKING HATE HIM-OH SHIT!"

In his blind rage, he'd lashed out and unintentionally taken it out on his creations; now faced with a rather creamy pile of mess on the floor, Elliott couldn't help banging his fist on the kitchen counter, only to wince at the sudden pain throbbing through his arm.

"Damn, and I was about to offer you some fucking toast," he snarled, trying to sound comprehensible though his sharp, gritted breathing. "Go ahead and grab some yourself, we won't mind."

"I hope you're not including _me_ in that we."

Sighing in frustration at the sound of the new voice, it was obvious that Bianca wasn't on the top of Elliott's list of people he wanted in the kitchen; though despite the sheer amount of effort going into his glare, it was obvious to the chef that the opera singer wasn't about to shut up or get out any time soon.

"And you're fucking here _because_..."

"Simple, really. I came running as soon as I heard the noise," She said, looking rather unimpressed. "Just what are you doing to make that much racket?"

"Your fucking panna cotta, that's what," the chef retorted, in a rather sarcastic manner. If his glare was anything to go by, it was obvious Elliot wanted Bianca out of the kitchen, and for good reason. Well, _his_ good reason. According to the chef, Bianca was one of the fussiest eaters he'd come across in a long time, getting so riled up about her criticism that one day he suddenly threw it in her face and declared she could make her own from that point.

"Elliot, seriously," she said, shaking her head in disapproval. "Must you always have to stoop to such vulgar language?"

"I have to look at your fucking mug, that's why."

She'd tried her best to keep silent and adhere to the "speak when you're spoken to" attitude that most of the older Uppers had, but the second the comment had left the male's mouth, Noemi couldn't help giggling, despite all attempts to stifle her noise. However, she was wise enough to stop when she caught sight of Bianca's rather stern stare.

"What is _she_ doing here?"

"_Noemi_ fucking works here, your Majesty."

"I know that!" She snapped, looking rather unimpressed. "What I meant was, what is she doing _here_ when she should be upstairs attending to my quarters?"

Noemi couldn't help glancing at the chef in a way that screamed "Help me", sighing in disappointment when his silent response was obviously along the lines of "It's best you go".

"Ever so sorry, Miss Mancini," She said, giving a nod as she apologised profusely and rushed out of the kitchen; causing Elliott to sigh in frustration, he couldn't help darting a rather dark look in Bianca's direction.

"You utter bitch," He snarled, sounding rather blunt about the fact. "Me, me, fucking me _again_. You're the not only one in this fucking clan, you know, no matter how much fucking space you take up."

"Now I barely see any need for _that_-"

"And why the fuck do you always fucking do that, you fat cow, huh!" He snapped, not at all caring for her shocked, insulted expression. "Everytime I have a fucking chance with her some wanker, i.e. _you_, fucks it up for me."

"There is such a thing as abusing your power," Bianca retorted, sounding a little more reserved than her earlier, brash self. "She probably only bothers to take an interest in you because you're on television. She has the same starstruck look in her eyes whenever the likes of Dorian or Gail speak to her, a kind of hollow awe attracted by the rich and famous. I..."

She trailed off, noticing Elliott had swiftly returned to his pots and pans; sighing as she waited, she was soon face to face with the chef's unimpressed expression once again.

"I haven't got the fucking time for your bullshit yapping," he said, almost drowning himself out with the clatter of metal against counter. "You want to do something fucking useful, you can piss off. Like right fucking _now_."

"Elliott, I just think you should-"

"Bianca."

"Yes?"

"I. SAID. FUCKING. _NOW_."

"Alright, alright, I'm _going_," she said, her tone a mixture of awkwardness and irritation. Hurriedly making her way through the double doors of the kitchen, she was quick to try her best to calm herself down; Bianca wasn't one to bear grudges or linger on the issue for _too_ long, but no matter how much she tried to forget about it, one burning matter just hadn't let itself out of her head ever since she'd joined the Uppers' ranks.

How Elliott had survived in the clan for so long with his short temper and persistent cursing, she'd never know...


End file.
